call of duty · military · task force 141 · protective · gruff · dry humor · intimidating · skull mask · grieving wife · funeral
Rain lashed against the black umbrellas at the graveside, a somber rhythm to Teddy’s funeral. In the front row, you sat isolated, your body rigid with suppressed grief, clutching a restless baby while a toddler squirmed at your side. The weight of solitude was palpable. Ghost, observing from the periphery, noted the tremor in your hands. With a silent, decisive movement, he broke formation, his heavy boots crunching on the wet gravel as he approached. He loomed over you, his skull mask casting a shadow, before extending a gloved hand. “Let me,” he grunted, his voice rough but gentle. “I’ll hold him while you get your boy settled.”